


Ain't No Cure For the Summertime Drabbles

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [68]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Arachnophobia, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Therapy, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Even more drabbles set in the 'By Any Other Name' universe.





	1. A Criminal's Best Asset is His Lie-ability

**Author's Note:**

> The scariest statement in the English language?
> 
> Stretch has money on 'we need to talk'.

* * *

One of the nice things about not having a 9 to 5, was that any given day could be a day off. That his chosen one was Saturday was coincidence, really, and Stretch was enjoying it with as much laziness as he could muster. 

Which meant he was currently lounging in a deck chair with a piece of reflective cardboard, working on his tan which was a hilarious joke, thank you. It was well into the chucklicious stage when a shadow interrupted his basking. Stretch slit open his sockets and through his sunglasses, he could see Edge looking down on him with a Very Serious Expression ™.

“hey, babe,” Stretch put down his reflector and reached out for his drink to lift it in a mock toast, ice cubes clinking merrily. 

"We need to talk."

Well, that sounded sufficiently ominous. Stretch set aside his piña colada, plucking free the paper umbrella as something to fidget with while trying not to look too anxious. Edge seemed awfully damn serious for a Saturday morning and Stretch couldn’t think of anything he’d done lately to warrant that kind of expression. Or at least nothing he would have been caught at so quickly. 

Edge opened his mouth, shut it, opened in again, took a moment to rub his forehead and let out a long suffering sigh, and then finally he said, "I want to ask for an explanation, I do, but I'd like to start with saying that I completely and irrefutably forbid you from robbing a bank."

Oh. That. "look, it’s not like that, babe."

"--because we hardly need the money and even if we did, turning to a life of crime isn't a valid choice, and honestly, love, you’d be a terrible cat burglar, you trip going up the stairs every other day—"

"hey!"

“—besides, if your teammates get detained, you won't even be able to drive the escape car—"

“okay, you have me on that one.”

"--and if, heaven help us, my brother got involved, it would almost certainly end with a multi-state manhunt, possibly international, and someone would be hurt or killed, and—

“edge!” Stretch said loudly when he finally paused for a breath. “babe, i’m not actually robbing a bank.”

“Ah. That’s…good to hear.” But yeah, that was enough lingering doubt to spread on a suspicion sandwich, with a smidgen of hope for garnish. It probably would have been insulting, but— “Perhaps you can explain this then?”

Edge held up what he had in his hand and, yeah, that was a little awkward. Blueprints, alarm system schematics, and a notebook that had ‘Bank Robbery’ written at the top with doodles down the margins of bags with money signs on them. 

Yeah, he was having a hard time faulting Edge for his trust issues on this one. 

Stretch tried to hold back the grin, he really did. Tried to think of hurt puppies and dropped birthday cakes and lonely lovers standing with flowers in the rain. But the pained, earnest look on Edge’s face as he stood there trying to convince him not to devote his life to crime was too much. 

It started with a little smile, one that strained at feeble hold of his restraint and grew, swelling into a giggle and finally broke through with a roar of helpless laughter. Stretch fell back on the chair, giggling madly, and it was only when he could see honest irritation starting to spark in Edge’s eye lights that he sat up, wiping at his damp sockets. 

“babe,” Stretch said patiently, and he could do fuck all about the quiver of laughter lingering in his voice, but hey, it was the effort that counted. “it’s a game.”

“A game,” Edge repeated slowly.

“yeah, a game! like a board game? it’s called ‘heist’, me and andy have been playing it over skype.”

The relief that passed across Edge’s face at learning he wasn’t going to have to live his life on the run like a Monster-version of Bonnie and Clyde was kind of fucking adorable. Shame it didn’t last. That reserve that Stretch hated so much dropped down over his face like a curtain, show’s over, no encore. 

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, stiffly, and fuck. He knew his baby entirely too well. Anyone else might doubt his sincerity or think he was a prick, but Stretch _knew_ him. Edge wasn’t much for role-playing games but if this was Monopoly, he was heading straight for embarrassed without passing Go or collecting two hundred bucks. 

“hey,” Stretch said softly. He hooked his forefingers into Edge’s belt loops, tugging him forward until Stretch was craning his neck to look up at him. “we’re cool, mama bear. if you didn’t worry, then i’d end up worrying about you, and that’d worry you, which is a never-ending cycle we probably shouldn’t start up.”

That curtain of reserve wavered, blowing back enough for Stretch to see the shame and uncertainty hiding behind it. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“shoulda, woulda, coulda, babe. and let’s be real, here, if my bro saw that shit? he would’ve tied me to a chair before settling on a chat.”

Yeah, mentioning his bro and his smothering tendencies was a good way to get a scoff and a roll of eye lights out of Edge. “I might have tried that myself, but I know full well you have a book on magic and knot-tying in the living room.”

“aww, you ruined my surprise.” Stretch let his hands slide down Edge’s femurs, watching the crackle of interest in his eye lights turn to surprise as Stretch abruptly shifted to push hard on the backs of his knees, sending Edge nearly sprawling into his lap. “ah, there we are. hi.”

“Hi,” Edge said dryly. But he only wriggled a little to get comfortable, for once not crabbing that he was too heavy for Stretch. Instead, Edge took advantage of their equal height to take a kiss that didn’t make him crane his neck one way or the other. 

He tasted like love and apology and Stretch only sighed and accepted it. He also made a mental note to tell Andy that they were starting a new game called ‘Heist’, because if Edge found out he’d planned all that out as a mental exercise in a moment of manic boredom, he was probably gonna be sleeping on the couch for a week, possibly longer. 

And maybe he should go ahead and burn the notes, because he’d never actually planned to rob a bank, of course fucking not, but if Red caught a gander at it…? Yeah, maybe that was a limb he shouldn’t go out on. Better safe than sorry and all that shit.

In the meantime, he had a husband to reassure that he wasn’t about to squeeze into leather pants and a mask to hit up the local credit unions with a freeze ray or something. 

Now _that_ was a job he could handle, no international manhunts required. 

-finis-


	2. Wrasslin’ Around (mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight! Fight! Fight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit NSFW here. Not graphically so but heads up.

* * *

The only thought on Edge’s mind was getting to the kitchen, absently thinking of starting dinner. He was looking at his phone, not where he was walking, and startled when he bumped into Stretch in the middle of the living room.

“Sorry, love, I…oh,” Edge broke off as Stretch moved the same way he did, keeping him from walking through. “Excuse me, are you deliberately getting in my way?"

"what makes you think that?" Stretch asked lazily, even as he stepped directly in front of Edge again when he tried to go past him. Only to squeal as Edge poked him hard right in the floating ribs. 

He rubbed at his attacked ribs with a frown, but his wounded look quickly turned to one of glee. "oh, you wanna fight, huh?"

In answer, Edge tossed his phone on the sofa, raising a challenging brow bone at his husband and taking in the sharp grin he got back in return.

'Fighting' for Stretch consisted of Edge allowing himself to be tackled down to the floor, the both of them wrestling playfully, trying to grapple the other. They rolled once, twice, banging loudly into the coffee table and knocking over a lamp that wasn’t particularly priceless. 

Edge fought only hard enough to keep up the pretense, finally allowing Stretch to force him to the ground, his wrists pinned to the carpet over his head in Stretch's slim hands. 

"i win!" Stretch panted gleefully. He was practically glowing with his delight, a bright flush high in his cheekbones. 

Edge made a show of straining against his grip before relaxing back comfortably against the floor. "It would seem so. Now what are you going to do with me?"

Stretch leered down at him, tongue skimming teasingly over his teeth. "i'm sure i can think of something."

Through half-closed sockets, Edge looked up at him, allowing a faint smirk to curve his mouth. "Anything you want, love."

Stretch blinked, taken aback. A shiver ran through him as he muttered, "shouldn't say shit like that."

"Why not?" Edge let his voice drop lower into a rough rasp as he murmured, "I trust you."

"edge." The faint desperation coating his name was tantalizing. Stretch was quivering against him, his breathing too-quick and eager. His hands flexed on Edge's wrists, fingertips digging in even through his gloves. Straddling Edge the way he was, it was impossible for him to hide his body's reaction, hard against Edge's pelvis. Edge lifted his hips in a slow, deliberate writhe, watching that movement crackle in Stretch's eye lights. 

His voice was not lovely, not meant for happy songs nor sweet persuasion. but he'd learned it did have at least once specific purpose where Stretch was concerned. Throatily, Edge murmured, "You'd never hurt me, never force me, you'd stop if I asked, why wouldn't I let you do whatever you like?"

That shiver became a near-convulsion, Stretch shuddering against him and it was Edge's turn to blink up at him in disbelief, mouth dropping open. He shut it with a sharp click, demanding, "Did you just come in your pants?"

Stretch only dropped his head down to rest on Edge's sternum, panting harshly as he groaned out, "you shit, that was cruel."

"On the contrary, I feel as if you owe me a thank you if you enjoyed it that much."

Ah, now that was a glare. Stretch's weakened grip on his wrists tightened again. Edge only raised a brow bone at him, a silent challenge. 

"oh, you're going to pay for that, i promise you,” Stretch growled down at him. His eye lights held a snappy tinge of orange.

"Talk, talk, talk," Edge sighed, then he smirked. "But I suppose it did work for you--ah!"

Oh, his temper was up now. Edge let his skull fall back on the meager padding of the carpet, relaxing into Stretch’s hands. He trusted Stretch implicitly and whatever he was planning was bound to be enjoyable for them both.

All he could do now was bite back moans as he focused on keeping his word, because he was very sure Stretch would keep his.

After all, a promise was a promise.

-finis-


	3. The Measure of Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, it’s fine. Just fine.
> 
> Or 
> 
> Blue and his brother have lunch. It’s swell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has mentions of depression and therapy, just to give a heads up!
> 
> We don’t see as much of Blue as we do Red, and I had the urge to peek in on him. So here we are!

* * *

If he were asked, Blue supposed he would say he missed his brother most in the mornings. 

Back in Underswap, Blue would be the first one awake, downstairs and dressed, ready to begin the day with a hearty breakfast. His brother would come downstairs much later, sometimes when the smell of coffee wafted upstairs, sometimes when Blue called to him. (And sometimes those calls needed to be both energetic and exasperated before Papy would emerge.)

Papy didn’t often eat breakfast. He was far more likely to wordlessly drink several cups of coffee while mangling a piece of toast, but so long as a few bites of that toast were consumed, Blue didn’t press. If by dinner he hadn’t eaten much, Blue would be more persistent but for breakfast, he didn’t like to start the day on a bad note. They spent their mornings together with Blue chattering away and Papy not saying much and that was fine.

Things didn’t change overly much when they came to the surface, although Papy was far more likely to wander back to bed after his coffee and toast bits without a sentry job to keep him awake. It had left Blue at a bit of a loss and worse was when his duties as a diplomat took him away for weeks at a time. There was no one to care for his brother and Blue lived by his cell phone, calling and texting to reassure himself that Papy was eating, that he wasn’t just lying in bed eating chisps and mainlining coffee while he smoked.

It was better when Papy started to do lab work again. Those days he might forget to eat, but he would scarf a sandwich absently if Blue brought one. Busy was better, Blue always said, and it was comforting to know his brother was close by, only a flight of stairs away rather than the length of the Underworld in Hotland.

And then he started dating Edge.

That was fine, of course. His brother deserved to have a relationship with someone who cared for him. That it was Edge was…well, unexpected, to be sure, and Blue couldn’t really say he completely approved even now that they were married, especially considering their rocky beginning.

To begin with, he knew full well that Edge allowed Papy to sleep as long as he liked rather than urging him to get up with him in the morning, something Blue discovered when they’d first moved in together. He’d gone over to bring his brother breakfast, only to find him still asleep. It had taken a fair amount of knocking to rouse him, and from Papy’s sleepy dismay, Blue came to the unpleasant realization that his brother hadn’t expected him for breakfast. 

It was…different from home. It wasn’t his kitchen, wasn’t his coffee pot, and rather than a chat with his sleepy brother, Blue found he was uncomfortable here with Papy in what was obviously Edge’s bathrobe, falling asleep at the table because he’d been up all night doing stars knew what.

Papy had tried to reassure him that it was all right, but Blue hadn’t gone back over for breakfast since. 

It was fine, really. They were adults now and adults did their own thing. Obviously it was different with Sans and Papyrus, they still lived together, but that was their choice and his brother was with Edge. And that was fine.

Edge loved Papy, that was unquestionable, and if he handled some of Papy’s issues differently than Blue would, it wasn’t really his place to bring it up. Not terribly much, anyway. And besides, Edge was the one who came to him to ask about learning healing magic and if he was terrible at it then at least he was trying. 

Blue could never fault someone who was trying, especially as hard as Edge did. He liked Edge, he did. He just didn’t quite understand what someone like him saw in someone like his brother.

No matter; he didn’t have to understand, and that they did love each other was painfully and sometimes sickeningly obvious. Blue gave up his daily breakfasts for weekly lunches and that was fine. It was.

Today Papy was sitting at their (no, his dining room table, his alone), watching as Blue made them sandwiches. He piled fillings high on his homemade bread, along with a modest side of Papy’s favorite chisps, and did not stare or comment on the way his brother was fiddling with his lighter and the napkin holders. 

His brother would bring up what was bothering him when he was ready and not one moment sooner. Pestering only made him shut down tighter. That had been a hard lesson for Blue to learn, one that had taken years. 

(He didn’t resent how Edge seemed to have figured it out quickly, not at all.)

Instead, Blue chatted about how things were at the Embassy, about how talks were open on building a new one in southern California, something the Hotland Monsters had been petitioning about for some time now. How someone had started a rumor that there was a group of secret Monster spies with the interns and now many of them were trying to figure out how to join. How somehow the Embassy cafeteria found a way to make tuna salad even worse.

When he slid their plates onto the table and hopped into his chair, chatter turned to eating. 

At least his chatter did. Papy only poked at his plate idly, moving the chisps from one pile to another. Then he picked up his lighter, toying with it again. Blue was halfway through his sandwich when Papy finally spoke. 

“so, i’ve been in therapy for a while now.”

“Yes, and I’m proud of you for staying with it, Papy.” Blue kept it at that, not wanting his brother to glean his lingering hurt that he’d been willing to go for Edge, but not for him. He was going, that was the important thing.

Papy didn’t look up from his lighter, watching it flip through his own fingers. “yeah…anyway, um, i wanted to say that i’m sorry that i was a pretty shitty big brother for a long time there.”

That stopped Blue almost mid-bite. He chewed his mouthful furiously, swallowing down bread and lettuce to sputter out, “You were never--"

"come on, bro,” Papy smiled at him thinly, finally met his furious gaze, only to look quickly away. “you don't have to pretend.”

"Who told you that?" Blue said, low. It couldn’t have been Edge, he was sure, it _couldn’t_ have been, he would never and if he did, oh, Blue had some words for him, because how dare he ever make Papy feel—

But Papy only blinked in surprise. "what?”

Blue was almost shaking with fury, pushing aside his plate with enough force that a couple chisps fell onto the table in a trail of crumbs. "Who told you that you were a bad brother? Because that is a lie! You were a wonderful brother!"

“yeah, wonderful,” Papy said. It had been so long since Blue had heard that tone from him, years, emotionally blank and listless. “letting you work and train for the guard and take care of the house, me playing at being a sentry while you took care of everything. i was primo all right.”

“What I remember is a brother who sacrificed for me so that I could have clothes, who worked two jobs for a very long time to make sure I never went hungry,” Blue said tremulously. His sockets were stinging and he blinked hard, struggling to keep his voice even because he wanted his brother to believe. "Who encouraged me in my dream to join the guard and never once told me I was foolish or wasting my time. Papyrus, you gave up so much for me your entire life, I...yes, things were a little different when I was older, but that was because I was old enough to help! You helped me your whole life, Papy. It was my turn to help you."

Papy sniffled noisily, wiping at his nasal aperture with his sleeve even as tears started sliding down his cheek bones. “okay, yeah, my therapist said i should ask you about it, but-“

“No,” Blue interrupted gently. “No buts.” He took a deep breath; it hurt to say it, but, “I'm overbearing sometimes, I know that. But that's because you're the best big brother anyone could hope to have and I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. I love you, Papyrus.”

His own tears finally escaped when Papy slid down to the floor, knee-walking over to wrap his arms around him. Papy rested his skull in Blue’s lap and Blue leaned down to press a kiss against it, inhaling the honied tones of his brother’s magic, sweeter even than his own.

"thanks, bro,” Papy’s voice was muffled into Blue’s lap. “i love you, too.”

Blue wiped away his own tears with a napkin. "You don't need to thank me for the truth, so I'll accept that for lunch.” He gave his brother a gentle push. “Now, eat.”

Papy scrambled to his feet, deliberately plucking a chisp from his plate with a sly grin and eating it messily, so crumbs fell to the table.

“Papy!” Blue complained and his brother’s laugh made his soul tighten with happiness.

“sorry, bro,” Papy chuckled. He picked up his sandwich and took a hearty bite, still chewing as he said around his mouthful, “so let me tell you what nugget did the other day, that little shit—“

Blue sat eating his own lunch, listening to his brother talk. Laughing at his stories about the chickens and the neighborhood children, grinning at his brother’s happiness, his delight in his life.

His happiness echoed soothingly in Blue’s own soul.

And it was just fine.

-finis-


	4. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren’t what Edge was looking for, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d found something that way.

* * *

   
   
Edge hadn’t intended to buy them. He’d only stopped at the farmer’s market on his way home to check on the influx of in-season fruit and vegetables, thinking perhaps of trying a new dish tonight.

But something unexpected caught his eye lights at a colorful booth by the front door. He had his wallet out before he even thought about it and a package quickly in hand.  
   
When he walked in the front door, Stretch was lying on the sofa. He sat up, already smiling in greeting, but his eye lights flicked obviously to the package in Edge’s hands. He didn’t mind; he loved buying Stretch gifts and in turn, Stretch loved receiving them. It worked well.

“Here.” The paper crackled as he handed over the paper cone. Stretch took it curiously, drawing back the wrapping to look inside.  
   
“you brought me flowers,” Stretch said, bemused.  
   
“You don’t like them?” It was only a tease, though Edge did wonder at what Stretch would reply. There were a few small bits of greenery and little white flowers that Edge couldn’t name, but most of the bouquet was of large sunflowers, cheery yellow petals fringing a dark face.  
   
“didn’t say that,” Stretch touched one of the petals lightly. “but you’ve never brought me flowers before.”  
   
“I know, but these ones made me think of you.”  
   
Stretch made a thoughtful sound, trailing Edge into the kitchen and watching as he rummaged beneath the sink for a vase. He filled it with water before reaching for the flowers. Stretch reluctantly allowed Edge to take the bouquet, hopping up to sit on the counter while Edge carefully trimmed the ends. “so, sunflowers make you think of me, how?”  
   
“I like sunflowers, and I like you. It wasn’t a difficult leap to make.” Edge settled them into the vase, carefully arranging the stems so that the sunflowers faced outward more evenly.  
   
“you’re getting soft, babe.” But when he leaned over top of the vase to steal a kiss, his mouth was curved in a smile. Stretch leaned back again with a sigh, nudging a flower he’d bumped back into place. “they are pretty, aren’t they?”  
   
“Do you know, sunflowers are called that because while they’re growing, they follow the sun as it crosses the sky.”  
   
Like one of the flowers thirsty for water, Stretch perk up with interest, always eager for information. “really?”  
   
“Yes. Their faces track the sun, helps them grow tall.” Stretch snorted at that, waggling his dangling feet. Edge stepped between Stretch’s knees and slid his arms around him, tugging him to sit on the very edge of the counter. It left him a little off-balanced, forced to lean on Edge to keep his seat. Perfect. “Sunflowers would never be able to grow in the Underground. The artificial light couldn’t have sustained them.”  
   
“no, i guess not.”  
   
“So, they make me think of being Aboveground, of the sun.” Stretch’s illicit seat on the counter put them at a height, and Edge nuzzled a kiss against Stretch’s jaw. “Of you.”  
   
“that’s ridiculous,” Stretch sighed. He tipped his head back, giving Edge better access to the sensitive bone at the underside of his jaw.  
   
Edge only hummed softly, partly in agreement and partly to feel Stretch gasp at the vibration against his bones.  
   
Ridiculous? Perhaps. But Edge had been gardening for a while now, and he’d learned a great deal.  
   
And he knew that some flowers needed plenty of sunlight to bloom. 

-finis-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, look at this lovely artwork that hj_skb did for this!
> 
> [Look Here!](https://twitter.com/hj_skb/status/1138708138234916864)


	5. A Pain in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s really not a spectator sport.

* * *

Chickens really were excellent companions. To Stretch’s mind, not enough people were aware of the pet potential of playful poultry, and it was a goal of his to make them aware through Twitter and Instagram that the benefits extended far past omelets.

For one, they were great to share popcorn with.

"You realize this isn't a spectator sport, you brat."

Stretch idly tossed Nugget another piece of popcorn, watching her gobble it eagerly while he munched on a handful of his own. Hers was plain, his had an overabundance of cheese flavoring that was turning his finger bones orange. 

But who gave a shit about that, the real show was about ten feet away from them, glaring in exasperation as Edge leaned against the push lawnmower.

He’d stopped to wipe the sweat away from his face with a handkerchief, but frankly, the commercial break was almost as good as the actual show. Better, even.

That T-shirt of his was clinging damply, showing the curved outline of his ribs. His grass-stained jeans were inching lower on his pelvis, revealing peeks of his iliac crests when he moved. 

It was like the world’s longest, least revealing striptease and Stretch wanted to enjoy it as long as he could.

“depends on the spectator, babe,” Stretch called to him, then to Nugget, “right, honey?”

Nugget clucked in agreement or maybe she was only happy about her popcorn. Both, maybe, she was a chicken of refined taste and probably would have been at Edge’s heels, pleading for his attention like the tramp she was, if her leash wasn’t holding her back.

“Mowing the grass isn’t an invitation to watch!”

“uh huh,” Stretch said absently. Really, Edge should appreciate him and his loyal guard chicken more. A couple of other Monsters had already slowed their walk passing by. They’d sped up again quickly enough at Stretch’s glare; ain’t no more tickets to this free show, even if they were showing exceptionally good taste.

Edge never noticed, but that was par for his course. It was all right; secretly defending his baby’s honor was one job Stretch was happy to handle.

His attention was more on the bead of sweat rolling down the back of Edge’s skull than the obvious lies Edge was trying to sell him on, anyway. It trickled down to his cervical vertebra, the droplet hanging there, glimmering. “hey, use that cloth thingie again.”

The brief moment it took for Edge’s expression to change from exasperated to calculating was not enough for Stretch to brace himself. Nope, nothing short of a written warning with a notary seal could have readied his soul for Edge to jerk up the hem of his shirt instead, wiping at his damp face while his ribcage and a frankly obscene amount of glistening spine and pelvis was on display. All those strong bones, crisscrossed with healed breaks and scars, every one of which begged for a touch or a nibble, all the little fucking angels—

“Is that better?”

Only that deliberate, husky voice was enough to break Stretch from his stupor. He still jerked, blinking, and the words he tried sounded more like a garbled pocketful of consonants than actual language.

Edge let his T-shirt fall back into place and that went a long way to restoring Stretch’s higher cognitive function. Enough to notice he’d spilled most of his popcorn on the steps and he hastily started scooping up handfuls before a gleeful Nugget got too much.

“how much longer are you gonna be at that?” Stretch managed, not even bothering to hide the note of pleading that was poking out of that like a warning flag.

Not that it helped. Edge only shrugged, that faint smirk of his a goad and an enticement in one. “Maybe a half an hour.”

“babe—“ Stretch reached into the hidden, lusty depths of his soul for that whine, but Edge was unmoved.

“Longer if you don’t let me work.”

That shut him up. Stretch sighed and flopped back on the porch, gazing up mournfully at the cheery, and hot, sunny sky, the source of his current pain. 

Nugget settled on his chest, pecking lightly at his shirt and Stretch petted her absently. And turned his head enough to watch Edge pushing the mower along, unruly grass falling beneath its blades. 

The slight sway of his pelvis was drawing up his T-shirt again, giving another glimpse of enticing white bone, a hint, a fucking tease.

He was going to die, his soul was just going to overheat and poof away while his uncaring husband payed more attention to the herbage than him.

“mourn me, nugget,” Stretch sighed and he decided her clucks were firm agreement. 

Yep, death was imminent. That and probably orgasms, in about a half hour’s time. Meanwhile, Stretch didn’t look away, eye lights avidly taking in the free show.

Beauty might be in the eye of the beholder, but only if someone was watching.

-finis-


	6. Waterworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was nice of Stretch to send him a text as to where he was, but what he was doing might have been a nice addition.

* * *

_babe we r @ the field, whnevr u r home_

Edge got the text a full hour before he was due to leave work and much as he appreciated the information, it did bring up questions. For example, what were ‘they’ doing in the field and who precisely were the others in the equation of ‘we’ and ‘they’.

It was a coin toss as to whether asking those questions would simply create more, and in the end, Edge chose ignorance. He’d learn soon enough what was going on and what countermeasures might be necessary.

When he finally returned to New New Home that afternoon, taking the time to change out of his work clothes before walking to the field by the school, his questions were very quickly answered. 

The ‘what’ was an elaborate maze of sprinklers set up across the grass, hoses crisscrossing the road and feeding into them. Garden sprinklers, slip and slides, ones with clown faces and wildly waving tubes spraying water along with little splash pads and various plastic animals spewing fountains. It looked as if somewhere there was a supercenter with their supply of summertime waterworks completely emptied.

Beneath the spraying water was what looked like every child in New New Home, Stretch’s normal minions and many others, squealing and running through the shower. 

At a safe distance from the chaos was a collection of parents in lawn chairs, watching their offspring with various expressions of indulgence. With them, in a chair of his own and dressed unusually in light summer clothes was Antwan, and his smile was perfectly indulgent as well, if completely different.

In the middle of it all, towering over the youngsters, was his husband. Stretch was wearing swim trunks with what looked like sharks eating tacos swarming the fabric and a tank top declaring ‘lifeguard on duty’, both of which were dripping wet. A whistle hung from a string around his neck and whatever he was shouting was lost in the laughter of children and the roar of the water.

On the other side, closer to slip and slides, was Jeff. He was in a plain pair of trunks and another lifeguard tank top with a whistle of his own around his neck. Thick white lotion was smeared on his nose, and he was gesturing wildly to a group of older children who seemed to be involved in some sort of relay race. 

They were all laughing.

Edge kept back and watched, not because his jeans and T-shirt were unsuitable, they were, but because the sight of Stretch laughing with such pure delight sent a pleasant cramp through his soul. A pulse of love so strong he needed a moment to process it.

As he watched, one of the children slipped and fell, tears instantly mingling with the falling water as she wailed. One of the parents shifted in their chair, but Stretch was there faster than a shortcut, crouching down to soothe her, and whatever he said soon had her laughing again and scrambling back to her feet to join the others.

Edge smiled, helplessly, ignoring the very different pang in his soul. 

As Stretch stood back up, he caught sight of Edge and it seemed impossible that his delight could double, tipping over into pure joy. Stretch darted over to him and for the first time in recent memory, Edge took an instinctive step back, away from close to seven feet of dripping wet enthusiasm.

Stretch only laughed and stopped a couple feet back. “sorry, i am little damp.” He swiped his fingers down his shirt and flicked them at Edge, casting the faintest spray of wet.

“Slightly, yes.” Edge said and his tone was the driest thing there.

“how did we do?” Stretch gestured grandly at the watery scene behind him. “not bad, right!”

“It’s certainly something,” Edge agreed. A tangled chaos of a water wonderland, complete with a collection of little ones. ‘Something’ seemed to be the easiest descriptor.

Stretch’s grin only widened. “that’s what i love about you, sweetheart, your fancy way with words.” There was the sound of a whistle, Jeff calling over to a group of kids who were trying to climb on what looked like a grinning fire hydrant. Stretch grimaced. “whoops. duty calls. see ya, babe!”

He was gone as quickly as he’d arrived, jogging back over with his whistle howling, water dripping from him all the way to his sandals.

“My sister tells me that he and that friend of his spent all morning setting this up.”

Edge turned to see Janice walking up to him. She’d changed from her business pantsuit to shorts and was carrying a folding chair. Her gaze flicked from Edge to the playing children, a couple of whom were her own, their fur drenched as they giggled and ran. 

“I’m sure he did,” Edge said dryly. “Stretch is a very hard worker when the end results meet his standards of amusement.”

She laughed. “Of course. He’s very good with them, isn’t he.”

“He is,” Edge said, a touch curtly. It was a lead-up he’d heard before, inevitably heading down a path of questions about when they would have their own. Questions that were certainly no one else’s business but his and Stretch’s, and that every time pressed on an internal bruise, a faint hope that he’d willingly set aside but still pained him on occasion. 

He’d made his choice in that and did not regret it. It didn’t mean that the bruise didn’t linger. That it didn’t occasionally ache.

But Janice only smiled. “Since they spent all day on this, how do you feel about, oh, a community picnic? If everyone runs home to get something to share, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Edge admitted. Certainly easier than dragging any of that crowd home for dinner.

“Wonderful! I’ll go spread the word, get some of our burlier neighbors to bring over picnic tables.” She walked determinedly over to lounging crowd of adults with the same brisk efficiency that made her an excellent assistant. In no time at all, other parents were standing, nodding agreeably and headed towards their homes to see what food offerings they could bring.

Edge was ready to do the same. All he needed to do was tear his gaze from where Stretch was beneath the falling water. Right then he was leaning down almost far enough to lose his balance while a toddler clung to his slim fingers and wobbled through the spray on chubby legs. Both of them were gleeful, the child crowing happily and Stretch…

Streams of water were trickling down his skull, that perfect ivory bone glistening in the sunlight and he was laughing, shuffling along awkwardly with someone else’s child in his hands.

Edge looked away, turning his back on that enchanting joy before he gave in and joined him, jeans be damned. He turned his thoughts towards their refrigerator instead, mentally cataloging what was currently in it and what they had to offer an impromptu buffet.

He might put on his swim trunks while he was there.

-finis-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people have asked for a reminder about why Edge and Stretch don’t want children that I thought I should include a link to the story. 
> 
> They discussed it...sort of...in [The Gyft That Keeps On Giving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815130/chapters/40117229)
> 
> What it boils down to though is that Stretch doesn’t want children for any number of reasons, but his health is a huge factor. And Edge might want children but only with Stretch. So they’ve agreed not to have children.


	7. Biting Commentary (mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were much worse ways to be woken from a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hrm, how to warn for this one. 
> 
> There's sexual content, aftercare, a little angst, a lot of love, some hurt/comfort. I think that covers it?

* * *

There were definitely worse ways of being woken from a nap than fingertips trailing up his vertebrae, fondling the sensitive cartilage between them. The buttery-softness of gloves against his bones made Stretch shiver helplessly, even as he resurfaced from the soothing depths of sleep. 

“edge?” Stretch asked, sleepily.

“Who else?” Rich with amusement, and okay, it was a slightly rhetorical question. It was a pretty fair guess that no one else was going to be sneaking into their bedroom to feel him up. 

Give Edge credit for being a sly bastard, though, because Stretch had been bundled up in the comforter when he’d fallen asleep and now he was bare bones on the sheets. Not worth worrying about that little magic trick, Stretch only arched his spine as those clever fingers slid down, sighing, “feels good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Those words were considerably lower than the last time Edge spoke and Stretch squirmed at the touch of warm breath on the small of his back. The tongue that followed shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Stretch was still not quite awake. He hummed in appreciation as that soft, wet touch slid downward, tracing each vertebra as he made his way lower. 

“oh, babe,” he moaned, his pelvis jerking as it tried happily to follow. A pair of gloved hands took firm hold of hips, pinning them gently in place as Edge’s mouth moved over him. 

Stretch spread his legs wide at nudge between his femurs and the bed creaked as Edge settled between them. His mouth was hot, avidly sliding over bone and magic was swirling in in his pelvis, agitated and unformed. 

“That’s it, love,” Edge crooned, “that’s it, give me—” The words trailed off as his magic settled on a cock and he felt Edge pause. 

Okay, yeah, not what he’d intended, all things considered. He’d kind of anticipated getting fucked, which was a little harder with the wrong equipment. 

“sorry, gimme a sec,” Stretch groaned, then gasped as Edge did the exact opposite. His mouth was hot against him, his tongue curling around the shaft and Stretch could only whimper. The hands on his pelvis kept him from moving even as he strained against them, trying to wriggle loose. 

Words of pleading were hovering on his tongue, bitten back with the desperate effort as Edge shifted, moving to lay next to him. He pulled Stretch onto his side, spooning up behind him and there was the hot press of his cock between Stretch’s femurs, sliding to graze against his own. Okay, this was, this was different, it felt strange but good, sort of like frottage with Edge’s gloved hand reaching around to slip between Stretch’s legs, pressing their shafts together. 

“You don’t have to let me fuck you every time,” Edge breathed against the side of his skull, the words bordering on a groan. 

“i know,” Stretch mumbled, because great, now Edge wanted to chat? “like it when you fuck me.”

“Mmm, yes, but I like this, too.” Sharp teeth grazed his scapula, scraping carefully and Stretch reached back with a flailing hand, caught hold of Edge’s pelvis and gripped desperately. He needed to hold something, fingers digging in the curve of his iliac crest as Edge moved against him. Hips slowly rocking as he dragged his cock along Stretch’s pubic bone and the underside of his own dick, blunt pressure against him that made him grind back, trying for more. 

Edge shifted behind him, his free hand slipping beneath Stretch’s head. Fingertips on his jaw urged him to turn, straining to meet Edge’s mouth with his own. An awkward press of mouths that smeared magic between them and Stretch couldn’t focus, he couldn’t. He was losing himself to the pleasure of it, to Edge moving harder against him, the low grunts he made every time he drove his hips forward, sliding them together and Stretch reached down, knocking Edge's hand out of the way to wrap long fingers around them both tightly. 

That pressure, the feel of Edge sliding against him; it was enough. He came with a long, low groan, wet heat falling over his gripping fingers. That slickness doubled as Edge shuddered with him, teeth grazing his shoulder again and that bright spot of sudden pain only sent a hot pulse through him. He pushed back against it instinctively, relished that tiny hurt and it drew out the pleasure like a blade. 

It left him a trembling, sweaty mess against the sheets, twitching with little aftershocks like static electricity. He registered Edge moving away from him distantly, murmured a faint protest. It didn’t help, but he wasn’t gone long. 

“Hold still,” Edge said. Not quite brusque, almost shaken, and Stretch blurrily obeyed. A wet cloth rubbed against his scapula and he winced. It stung, and when he turned his head to look, the washcloth had slight traces of crimson on it, shades darker than Edge’s magic.

Huh. 

He kept still as Edge cleaned the little wound. Small, but deep enough to draw a couple beads of marrow. Not any worse than he’d gotten tripping over his own feet, few days and it would be gone. A reckless use of healing magic and it would vanish in seconds. Not a big deal.

It was just a damn shame that Stretch could almost smell the guilt in the air and it was not fitting in well with the spicy-sweet scent of their mingled magic that was still heavy around them. Enjoying the afterglow was gonna have to be put on hold for reassurances, yep. 

The hands at his shoulder fell away as Stretch rolled over to sit against the headboard. Edge stayed kneeling, the damp washcloth still in his hands and his eye lights slid away from Stretch’s, focused on the shoulder where he wasn’t even damn well bleeding anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Edge said quietly. That closed off expression did not suit him when he was still bare, his joints still faintly glowing. 

“it’s a scrape.”

“I should have been more careful.”

“it’s a scrape,” Stretch said impatiently, because fuck it all anyway with overprotective bullshit. But no, for all that they’d done together, all the sex they’d had, Edge hadn’t been very experienced when they’d started, he knew that. For the first time in ages that innocent uncertainty was in his eye lights. “look, it felt good at the time. don’t apologize for making me feel good.”

“I don’t like hurting you.” Forced out, gratingly rough. 

Ah, and there it was, friends and neighbors. Edge, who didn’t quite trust himself as much as Stretch did, who wore gloves constantly to keep his sharp fingertips protected. Afraid of hurting what he cared about, and he usually kept that fear well hidden, even from Stretch. 

That he was allowing it to be seen, giving Stretch a glimpse at his vulnerability, made the deep love in his soul swell, and fuck but he loved Edge so, so much. 

“then it’s a good thing you really, really didn’t. okay?” Gently, Stretch cupped Edge’s face in his hands, “listen. it’s weird, maybe, but sometimes a little pain can feel good. you made me feel so good, baby love. don’t make me feel bad for liking it.”

“That’s not fair,” Edge groaned, but he didn’t resist when Stretch leaned in and took a kiss, soothingly gentle.

“c’mere,” Stretch murmured and Edge let himself be drawn down, settling into Stretch’s arms. With the skill of long naptime experience, Stretch managed to pinch the blanket between two toes, pulling it up from the foot of the bed to cover them. He waited until Edge was snuggled against him, his skull tucked against Stretch’s rib cage, close to his soul, before he asked, “you okay?”

“I’m not the one hurt.”

 _Yeah, you are_. “not an answer, babe.”

A hesitation and that was a relief, meant that Edge was actually considering the question, then softly, “Yes. I’m okay.”

Good to hear but Stretch planned on keeping an eye on him anyway, just in case the answer changed. Later, he’d give healing that little scrape a shot; his healing magic didn’t always work so well when he used it on himself, but it was worth a try. Blue could’ve done it in two seconds and there was a scenario that was going to happen the tenth of never. Asking his brother to heal his sex wounds was right up there with trying for a threesome with Jerry in the great bucket list of things he never wanted to do. 

The idea alone made him grimace internally, why did his thoughts do these things to him? Better to focus on Edge drowsing in his arms, on his nature warmth that seemed to fill the blankets, better than any heater, and Stretch sighed, snuggling in close. 

A teeny external wound coupled with a tiny internal one, but in his experience, a good nap was a cure for both. 

-finis-


	8. An Egg-ceptional Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a reason Stretch slept in on Saturdays. The Universe was out to get him. A little _nugget_ of luck doesn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off a post on tumblr, I could not resist this idea.

* * *

Usually, the curtains in their bedroom were pulled tightly closed at night. Specifically chosen to be room darkening, because Edge had a thing about making sure Stretch got enough sleep.

Yeah, Stretch had it good and he knew it.

But somehow, last night a quarter inch of fabric didn’t get quite pulled into place (and yeah, Stretch was the one who closed them, no way Edge would’ve missed it), and a sliver of sunshine was creeping through it. That it landed directly on Stretch’s face was the Universe’s way of being funny and Stretch could only grudgingly appreciate its rude sense of humor.

It was way earlier than he normally got up on a Saturday, but he was awake now, may as well give sleep up for a loss. With great reluctance and a groan, Stretch hauled himself out of bed, scratching at his pelvis as he scrounged for something to wear. A pair of shorts and a bathrobe later and he shambled downstairs, thinking wistfully fond thoughts of coffee.

There was a full pot on the burner and a couple of bowls with rising bread dough in them, but no sign of Edge. That wasn’t too worrying, he was probably up to his elbows in some weekend project. Stretch would stumble over him eventually; hell, once he’d done it literally and that’d teach him to scrub the floor behind a door without a warning.

One cup of glorious coffee later, Stretch went outside to check on the girls with a bran muffin in hand. As per protocol, he would pick at it disinterestedly before giving most of it to the chickens. So far, he hadn’t been caught out and he was hoping his luck would hold. Whoever decided to make bran the main ingredient of the deliciousness that should be a muffin had a cruel soul.

Probably the Universe again. It always thought it was funny.

The chickens were clucking loudly the moment he opened the sliding glass door, only getting louder as he approached.

“all right, i’m coming,” Stretch shook his head. “what’s up with you two, anyway, i—“ he trailed off. Two. Two chickens, Noodle and Dumpling were at the gate, clamoring for attention. Nugget was nowhere to be seen.

With trembling hands, Stretch opened the gate, swallowing back panic and gently nudging the other two aside with his slippers as he stepped inside. There was a little food in their trough, which made him frown; Edge didn’t usually feed them, even though he got up earlier. A peek in the coop didn’t reveal a little black chicken, but her leash and harness were also missing from the hook inside the door.

Welp, he was no Sherlock Holmes or even a Scooby Doo, but Stretch figured he had enough clues to solve the mystery of where. Why was still up for grabs, though, so onward he went.

As quests went, this one was pretty short, not lasting past going through the gate to the front yard. Edge was kneeling on the ground, weeding through his garden plots and honestly, anyone who thought Edge was at all scary really needed to see him in his gardening hat. 

Next to him, happily pecking at the grass, was Nugget in her harness. Her leash was fastening to the handle of a trowel that was sticking out of the ground, not that she was likely to run away, not from Edge.

Why was it he never had his damn phone in these moments?

Stretch walked up to him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down the slight protuberance of his nasal cavity at Edge. “you know, you make fun of me when i take her for walks.”

“She’s not being used as model to cadge Instagram upvotes with me,” Edge told him loftily. He tossed a handful of weeds into a basket with a pile of others. “She’s helping me.”

“helping you?” Stretch repeated slowly, tasting the words. “yeah, okay, she’s a highly skilled gardener, i’m sure. a regular johnny appleseed, bet we could find her a set of tools on amazon.”

“It isn’t her garden skills I needed.” Another handful of weeds and Edge wasn’t quite looking at him now. “Many insects are useful in a garden, so long as they don’t consume the plants, but while I was out back weeding the plot there, a multi-legged monstrosity of some sort attacked me. Nugget swooped in and consumed it. Now she’s protecting me from further incidents.”

Okay. 

Yeah. 

Well, that was only the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard and Edge was so matter-of-fact about it, Stretch wasn’t entirely sure if he was even serious. That story, told in that completely flat tone? Edge was a surprisingly skilled bullshit artist when it came to the ridiculous; it was the serious shit he had trouble lying about.

But, oh, he could picture it. His big, tough Underfell hubby, shrieking and scrambling away from certain insect destruction, only to be rescued by a little chicken who gulped down the offender with a crow of delight. It was like Godzilla getting rescued by Raymond Burr.

He didn’t know if the universe was cruel to let him know what he missed, or kind enough to wake him to discover that it happened at all, because if he hadn’t caught Nugget on duty, the chances of Edge bringing that up over sandwiches at lunch ranked right up there with Edge signing them up for line dancing classes. 

Cruel or kind, hm. Both. It was probably both.

While he was wrapping his mind around that, Edge paused in his weeding to give Nugget a scritch. She crooned in ecstasy as her favorite person gave her her due, leaning into his hand and Stretch couldn’t even be jealous.

Okay, maybe a little.

If they were in a cartoon, the lightbulb going on over his head would have glowed even in the bright sunshine, “oh! hang on, stay here!”

Stretch dashed into the house, bathrobe flapping, down to the basement where he kept his box of little outfits he’d made for the ladies over the last year. It took him a moment of digging through the disorganized clutter but soon he held up the little apron he found triumphantly.

One sharpie later, and he was back outside, carefully tying on the apron over the harness. Nugget only stood there, patiently allowing it; she’d always been the best at indulging his whims. In no time she stood before them with her new uniform declaring, ‘Guard Chicken On Duty.’

Edge shook his head, “It’s my fault, I suppose, for allowing you to think you’re funny all this time.”

“i’ll have you know i am hilarious,” Stretch told him haughtily. “thousands of twitter users can’t be wrong.”

“Remind me never to tell you about the Humans who think the earth is flat,” Edge said dryly, but he was trying not to smile and on him that was as a good as a belly laugh.

Stretch pulled out his phone, quickly grabbed because like hell was he missing another photo opportunity. “c’mon, get your feet in the picture!” 

His sigh was long-suffering, but seriously, this wasn’t even on the top ten list of worst things he’d done for Stretch. The pic of his grubby gardening shoes with a chicken attacking the toes was on Instagram and Twitter in no time and the likes were pouring in immediately.

“Can I finish now?” Edge asked, in that sweety-sweety polite voice he got when he was being an ass. It was in the top three tones that Stretch loved on him, handily beaten out by ‘hoarse sultry’ and ‘captain command’. Top three wasn’t bad to start the day on.

“yep,” Stretch told him absently, fingers tapping furiously over his phone.

“And don’t start feeding her that bran muffin you have in your pocket yet, I need her hungry.”

“sure, babe…ah,” Stretch cringed guiltily. “um…sorry?”

Edge only hummed and his eye lights were amused. “If you’d prefer another flavor, you can ask, love.”

“please,” Stretch said immediately, because the Universe smiled upon him this day. “anything but bran. kale muffins would be better.”

“I don’t believe I’ll put that to the test, but there are blueberry ones in the pant—“ The words were smothered beneath Stretch’s quick, sloppy kiss and then he was gone, headed back into the house for his sweet, sweet breakfast.

Okay, so maybe the universe was giving him a little bit of a pass today. Missed the exceptional funny but gained the blueberry muffins. 

Fair trade.

-finis-


	9. Differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy Saturday sitting in the sofa together, but sometimes the smallest things make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, this chapter contains a depiction of depression.

* * *

It wasn’t Edge’s normal modus operandi to watch television of any sort on Saturday morning. But he was waiting for bread dough to proof and the threat of rain was keeping him from gardening. An old episode of British Bake-off seemed to be the order of the day and he hardly glanced up when Stretch started downstairs. 

“Good morning,” he called absently, expecting those shuffling steps to make their way to the kitchen for coffee before he got a response. To have them stop next to him was enough of a surprise to make him look up.

“Love? What’s wrong?” Edge started to stand up, only to sink back when Stretch sat heavily next to him. 

Despite the warmth of the day, Stretch was wearing his hoodie, the hood drawn up over his skull. In his lap, his hands twisted, his finger bones clicking together without rhythm. 

With his head bowed, Edge could only see the outline of his face. He wasn’t sure if it mattered; as often as Stretch wore his emotions as plainly as the silly t-shirts he loved, he could just as easily hide behind a blank mask that revealed nothing. But sight unseen, he expected shadows beneath his husband’s sockets, revealing a restless night.

“can i…can i just sit here?” Faintly hoarse and Edge wondered if he’d been crying. 

“Of course.” Edge didn’t touch him, but he did set a hand close to him in silent offering. A minute passed, two, and then slim, trembling fingers closed over his own, gripping painfully tight.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Only sat disturbingly still, staring sightlessly at the television playing in front of him.

It was so difficult for Edge to ignore the ache in his own soul that begged him to pull Stretch close, to hold him and whisper that he was loved, he was so loved, that he didn’t need to feel this way. 

Edge squashed the urge viciously. Much as he wished that a few simple words would help, he knew better than to give in to such a ridiculous notion. To suggest such a thing would be to say that Stretch was somehow weak or broken, and nothing could be further from the truth. He was stronger than most, to deal with this as he did and keep going. 

Sitting with him was the smallest thing Edge was willing to offer and the easiest wish to grant. To have Stretch speak again took him distinctly aback.

“could you maybe talk to me?”

That was a rare thing. Often, Stretch wouldn’t speak at all during the worst of these episodes, barely nodding or shaking his head in answer to a question. That he actually asked for something made Edge’s soul clench. Not such a bad one, perhaps? Or was Stretch simply getting more comfortable in asking for what he needed?

Something to think on later. For now, Edge only considered, then said slowly, “Something unusual happened with my Y group last Wednesday. I meant to tell you before, but I suppose I needed some time for it to sink in. All of them were acting strangely and I knew they were up to something, but I never could have guessed what.”

He paused and Stretch made a faint, encouraging sound.

“At the end of our session, they gave me a card,” Edge said, softly. “You see, most of these boys come from a troubled background and some of them don’t have much in the way of a parental figure. I try to give them some support, but I only see them for a few hours, once a week. But these boys gave me a card.” He smiled a little, remembering. “It was amusing. On the front, one of them drew a picture of me and it said ‘You’re not our father’. And on the inside, they’d each drawn pictures of themselves and it stated, ‘But happy father’s day, anyway.’”

He remembered their expressions when he looked up after reading it, their wary hopefulness that turned to delight when he smiled. The card was in his office now, proudly displayed in a place of honor. “It can be so difficult sometimes; you reach out to them and never know if they will reach back. But right then, I knew I’d made some difference in their lives. It felt good.”

The hand in his own tightened its grip almost painfully and Edge looked at Stretch, alarmed to see fresh tears on his cheekbones. 

“Love—“ he began, but Stretch shook his head. He slid down, resting his head into Edge’s lap, his face buried into the front of Edge’s shirt, hidden from view. The television droned on in the background, matched by the quiet clatter of rain.

Perhaps the combination of it all made it easier for him, because Stretch said, muffled into fabric, “you’re good at that. making a difference.”

He fell silent and Edge exhaled slowly, gingerly settling a hand on Stretch’s hooded skull. It wasn’t shaken away, and he left it there, let Stretch take whatever comfort he needed.

-finis-


	10. Said the Spider to the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge has his reasons for disliking spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a description of PTSD and childhood trauma, along with arachnophobia. Growing up in Underfell sucked.

* * *

The Underworld had a few climates but not really seasons, and over the few years they'd been on the surface, Edge had come to appreciate that every season had its benefits. 

Summer meant he could spend time in his garden, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on his shoulders, the delicate perfume of the flowers scenting the air around him. It meant that Stretch often dragged out a lawn chair to sit with him up front, sometimes bringing along a chicken, sometimes not, and either chattered excitedly about whatever had his attention that day or simply napped peacefully while Edge weeded. 

Today, the chattering was over but Stretch wasn’t yet asleep, blinking drowsily as he watched Edge working. On another day Edge might try to encourage that attention, maybe indulging in a little teasing before dragging them upstairs to shower together

But Stretch looked more asleep than not and knowing about his recently lowered HP, Edge wanted him to nap as much as possible. 

His blinking was getting slower, sockets more closed then not, when they widened suddenly, looking not at Edge but past him. Stretch sat up and waved, “heya, muff!” 

Walking down the sidewalk was Muffet, dressed in her normal frills and completely heedless of the heat of the day. A wide-brimmed hat was perched atop her smartly done hair with a lacy parasol completing the ensemble. On a sparkly pink leash, Cupcake waddled in front of her, its multitude of legs churning as it trotted along. 

"Good afternoon, dearies!" she trilled, waving with two of her left hands. 

"hey, how's it going?” Stretch scrabbled to his feet and trotted over. In no time they were chatting animatedly, her many hands moving as quickly as Stretch’s two.

Edge kept his eye lights on his weeding, ignoring them as they talked. The sun felt suddenly too hot, glaring down on him and he could taste the sweat beading on his skull, trailing downward and dripping to spot the leaves with reddish droplets. That chortling laughter made him hunch down, focusing on his hands. Training his gaze on the slender weeds poking their way through his sweet pea patch, trying to ignore the way that sound made his bones crawl. 

Intellectually, he knew that his reaction to Muffet wasn’t her fault, as ridiculous to blame her for what her counterpart did in Underfell as it would be to blame Papyrus for anything Edge had done. She’d always seemed a perfectly charming individual, and she and Stretch were on friendly terms. He knew in the past they’d had a relationship of sorts, likely a sexual one in nature. 

That was not his issue; his trust in Stretch was absolute and despite his husband's worries on the matter, Edge was not concerned with Stretch's sexual proclivities before him. It hardly mattered to him who Stretch had been with before, only that now Edge was allowed to claim Stretch as his, with murmured words as much as the ring on his finger. 

His difficulties with Muffet had nothing to do with Stretch, but instead took him all the way back to Underfell in a way few things could. 

Back where she had been the boogeyman come to life. Her spiderlings were everywhere in Hotland, a private network of spies and informants. Children tended to disappear in her district, without even a trace of dust lingering. He and Red never stayed there long, no matter that better food was easier to find, except once and—

The sound of his name made him jerk, looking up a bit wildly to see Muffet waving at him, past Stretch who only watched indulgently. 

“Hello, Edge," she called again. He managed a curt nod. Her cheery smile never wavered, her attention shifting back to Stretch, and their muted conversation continued. 

His soul was agitated, stirring in his rib cage almost aggressively. It wasn’t her fault he didn't like spiders, it wasn’t, and the memory was an old one, of Sans leaving him on his own once again to scrounge for food or G, carefully hidden behind a row of trash bins. He could remember waking to the feel of hundreds of tiny legs moving over him, beneath his clothes and even inside his skull as they bound him, the sticky threads clinging, strands of silk wound between his teeth, muffling his screams and if Sans had stayed away only minutes longer, if he hadn’t returned when he had, dropping the few rotting pieces of fruit he’d found to the ground, his magic flaring and the shrill insectoid shrieks that came, if—

“edge?”

Edge jerked his skull up, blinking away memory, confused to see Stretch standing several wary steps back. Bewildered, he glanced down to see his hands were fiery with magic, glowing through his dirty gardening gloves, the leaves of the plants withering away from the heat.

With a clench of his fists, Edge forcibly snuffed it. He took a slow, shaky breath, glancing involuntarily down the road to see Muffet skipping away, Cupcake waddling at her side as she turned down a side street and out of sight. It helped settle the agitated roil of his soul, if not the tremor in his hands, the uncomfortable heat of the sun pouring down. He stripped off his shirt, let the breeze touch his sweaty bones. That helped, too, and he could feel his magic easing. 

Stretch didn’t move, only stood waiting with patience that few would believe him capable of. Edge was one of them. He knew his love, knew him, and when the trembling in his hands finally eased, Edge spoke quietly even as he winced inwardly at the harsh grate of his voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

That earned him a lopsided smile, mirrored in soft, pale eye lights. “i’m not scared of you, babe. just didn’t want to startle you.”

A wise choice. Edge could almost see the wheels turning Stretch’s head; he was no fool and connecting the dots would be simple. Edge busied himself with tugging his shirt back on, grimacing at the sweat dampening it, even as he braced himself for the inevitable questions, and he could almost taste that foul silk even now, hear that chittering from inside his skull--

"so, what are we doing tonight?" 

The unexpected question made him blink. Stretch moved closer, flopping down next to Edge and his sleek, bony legs poked out from the bottom of his shorts, his bare toes wriggling against the grass. He was close enough that his sleeve brushed against Edge’s, a ridiculous shirt advertising some fantasy brand of potato chisps against his own plain one. When he offered a tentative hand, Edge stripped off his gloves and took it, twining their fingers together, bones softly scraping. 

"We're supposed to go over the Sans and Papyrus's,” Edge answered him slowly, “Papyrus is convinced that he simply needs to find the right board game and eventually we will be able to add game nights to our gathering repertoire.”

Stretch snorted. “yeah, okay, that only sounds like a worse recipe for disaster than the first time he made lasagna. we’re going, right?”

“Of course. If nothing else, I should be there as a chaperone. I’d like to try to keep the amount of homes that we destroy to the barest minimum.”

“yeah, it is kinda a pricey way to promote bonding.” Stretch nudged him unsubtly. “you wanna take a shower before we head over?”

Grateful tears pricked Edge’s sockets, though they never fell, even if the one sitting next to him was the only one Edge would ever be able to weep unselfconsciously before. Instead, he blinked them away, drawing their joined hands up to his face where he could breath in the mingled scent of their magic, achingly familiar to him now. Kissed the curve of those knuckles and the ring that marked Stretch as his, the same as his own ring did the opposite. 

The hand in his own twisted, Stretch’s fingertips brushing gently over his cheekbone, cupping his face. 

Someday, he would tell Stretch, he knew. One late night in their shared bed with the darkness around them keeping their secrets, he would be able to whisper to him that memory, and Stretch would listen, his slim arms wrapped tightly around Edge. He’d be able to tell him from the safety of Stretch’s embrace. 

For now, he only rolled to his feet, tugging Stretch to follow him into the house for that shower. They didn’t need to be to the Tale brothers’ home for a few hours yet and Edge planned to put every minute to very good use. 

-finis-


	11. Puzzling Concepts (mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge has always enjoyed a puzzle, even if it’s his own, and Stretch is always eager to lend a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, naughty naughty things in this one, beware! NSFW!

* * *

Storms in the Aboveground tended to be a source of both fascination and fear for many Monsters. 

There was nothing to compare them to in the Underground. The constant drizzle of Waterfall couldn’t possible match the snarling ferocity of a real storm, lightning scrawling wildly across the sky and thunder booming afterward. Monster generations new and old were being taught to count from each lightning flash to the thunder crack, learning to tell when a storm was moving away.

Thunderstorms fascinated many of them, including Stretch. The drizzling rain of a cloudy day, however, only held the interest of children eager to test their new rain boots.

When it became apparent that a lightning show was not imminent, Stretch sulkily flung himself on the sofa to mindlessly channel surf. His restlessness was obvious in his fidgeting, bare boney toes digging at the cushions and his hands twitching between the remote and his lighter.

It was a fair guess that eventually that restlessness would involve Edge in one way or another. Until then, he could focus on his own indoor entertainments.

A grey, rainy day gave him an excellent opportunity to work on his action figures. He’d purchased a new lot on eBay only a week before, broken, mishandled figures to put back together. It was an interesting challenge to find limbs and heads that were close to the originals, swapping out parts and carefully repainting them. A puzzle of a different sort.

It didn’t take long to gather his tools. Everything was laid out on a tray with meticulous care; a set of small screwdrivers, tiny brushes for cleaning away years of accumulated dust and grime, a magnifying lens, and needle-nose pliers.

Most of his days were spent crowded into an office chair and so today Edge settled to sit on the floor on the opposite side of the television, away from the flashing distraction. At the very moment he reached out to pick up a tragically abused Cliffjumper, the lights flickered and went out, leaving them in darkened silence.

Edge let out a long suffering sigh even as he pushed his work tray back out of harm’s way. Either it was a thrown breaker or the entire neighborhood was out, best to check which one.

But the sudden sound of movement kept him sitting, waiting suspiciously as he listened to his husband’s conspicuously loud attempt at stealth.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to feel Stretch settle behind him, legs on either of his sides.  
   
Where his hands landed, however, gave Edge a bit more of a jolt.  
   
"What do you think you are doing with those?" Edge thought his voice was remarkably even, considering where Stretch's sneaky hands ended up.  
   
"what, these?” The fingers slithering up the insides of his femurs paused, tweaking at the bone through his trousers hard enough to make Edge hiss. “eh, they have a mind of their own, babe."  
   
“I could give them a piece of my mind,” Edge said dryly.  
   
He could hear the grin in Stretch’s voice, his pointy chin settling on Edge’s shoulder. “could. but are you gonna?”  
   
Not likely. Not when those hands were a great deal nimbler than Stretch as a whole, neatly unbuckling his belt by touch alone. The purr of his zipper was loud in a room where the only sound was the muffled patter of rain and their own breathing.

With his trousers peeled open, there was no barrier to stop Stretch from delving in, slender bones briefly tracing his iliac crests. His magic was already stirring, a soft glow in the darkened room as that teasing touch moved along his sacrum, then lower yet.

“c’mon, baby, give me somethin’ to work with,” Stretch crooned, and his deep, husky voice was a touch of its own, shivering through Edge’s auditory canal.

Stroking fingertips coaxing their way along his pubic symphysis, gliding persuasively along his pelvic inlet, and Edge gave in, allowing his magic to take form.  
   
Stretch's fingers went briefly still, a cool touch against heated pseudoflesh. Edge couldn’t help being smug at catching him by surprise as his fingers pressed not against a hard cock but the soft folds of a cunt.  
   
"oh, you want to play like that, do you?" Hot breath gusted against the back of his skull as Stretch shifted to hook his feet over Edge’s knees, dragging his femurs further apart. "i can play this game."  
   
"Prove it." The challenge would have been better if it hadn't broken off on a moan. 

Slim phalanges that were already growing slippery from his arousal explored soft folds, thumb rubbing teasingly close to his clit while a single slender finger pressed inside. It slid in easily, gliding through the growing wetness, quickly followed by another, the pair of them scissoring inside him, stretching him gloriously.  
   
The sensation was still a little strange to him. Edge wasn’t quite familiar with using these genitals yet, especially not with a partner. It had taken a decent amount of time working on his own to figure out how to make that sensation truly pleasurable with his cunt. Not that Stretch had ever complained about the lack or tried to pressure him for it. But it was something he wanted, not only for Stretch, but for himself, to be able to enjoy the forms of sexuality his body could offer him.  
   
Time, research, a carefully chosen variety of toys that he had yet to share with his husband, and he’d puzzled through the best ways to appreciate the feeling of something inside him. Learned how to relax into it, teaching himself how to come. He tilted his hips now to better angle the glide of those fingers into him even as Stretch added a third, a fourth, and the tight pressure of them moving inside his pussy was exquisite.  
   
Once, he might have been embarrassed at the sounds escaping him, low, needy whimpers and grunts, once, at a time long before he'd learned how enjoyable it was to hear Stretch making similar ones. Now Edge could gift him that, allow his husband to know exactly how good his touch felt. He couldn't help rocking his pelvis back against him, trying to speed that rhythm and Stretch obligingly chased after him, his fingers moving quicker, making obscene, wet sounds as they thrust into him.  
   
Close to his auditory canal, Stretch said, roughly, "fuck, you're gorgeous, you’re so wet, baby, so tight, can’t even know how much i want to fuck you right now…that’s it, honey, take it…”  
   
He was panting, his skull dropping to rest against Edge's and the sound of bone scraping contrasted with his ragged breathing. Against Edge’s tailbone, his own hips were moving, shifting and rubbing the hardness in his shorts against him.  
   
Those thrusting fingers moved faster, settled into a quick-quick rhythm. His thumb pressed firmly against Edge’s clit, moving in tantalizingly abrupt little circles, sending electric flashes of pleasure tingling through him. He was close, so close, and for one brief, panicked moment, Edge thought he wouldn't be able to reach it, climax dangling just out of reach while he strained after it.  
   
Then the pressure of Stretch's thumb was perfect, paired with the fingers inside him and Edge tipped over, clutching at Stretch's femurs as he shivered and whimpered, coming hard. It was different than coming with his cock, he’d learned that much on his own. Less focused, more diffused through his body, but no less intense. He shuddered with the pleasure of it, Stretch’s fingers still moving inside him, curling and thrusting in him, drawing it out until it bordered on an exquisite pain and Edge closed his femurs around that hand, stilling him as he rasped out, “No more.”  
   
Gently, Stretch pulled his fingers free. The dribble of wetness following them made Edge squirm uncomfortably and Stretch gasped out, “fuck, don’t move.”  
   
That was nothing more than an invitation to squirm again, grinding his tailbone against the front of Stretch’s shorts. There was a brief moment of quivering stillness, Stretch’s hands fruitlessly clutching Edge’s pelvis. Then a quick scrabble of movement behind him, the sound of rolling elastic, and Stretch was hissing out a quavering moan through his teeth while a hot splash of wetness spurted against Edge’s spine, soaking through his clothes all the way down to the sagging waistband of his trousers.  
   
“fuck,” Stretch rasped, and he flopped back. The sudden lack of gripping hands let Edge turn, blinking through the darkness at the gorgeous disarray behind him. The residual glow of magic was enough to see shorts awkwardly pulled down to the tops of Stretch’s femurs, exposing the sturdy angles of his pelvis. His t-shirt rucked up past his sternum, all the visible bone gleaming with sweat. Stretch had one arm thrown over his sockets while he panted, bright orange burning in his cheekbones, and his fingers were still tinted pink with the residue of Edge’s magic.

So very beautiful and Edge wanted nothing more than to taste every delicate inch of him. 

But first things first.  
   
“If this is you playing the game, I think you lost,” Edge told him. The arm over his sockets lifted enough for a single pale eye light to glare out.  
   
“excuse me? i’m pretty sure i just made you come hard enough to loosen that stick up your ass.”

“Is that what you were searching for?” Edge teased. Very gently, he reached out to straighten the waistband of Stretch’s shorts, mindful of still-sensitive bone. His breath still hitched, pelvis lurching up into his touch. “You were certainly dedicated to finding it.”

“that was okay, right?” Stretch asked suddenly. He shifted to lean up on his elbows. “i mean, i know it was okay, but—“

The concern was exasperatingly charming, but unnecessary.

“It was very good, love,” Edge crawled up his prone body to press a gentle kiss to his teeth, stifling that uncertainty and murmuring between their mouths. “Thank you.”

“okay, no, no thanking for orgasms,” Stretch chuckled, tilting his skull and sighing as Edge kissed a path down his jawline. “save it for the dinner table. seriously, i’m not gonna turn it down, but if you aren’t comfortable changing it up like that, you don’t need to.”

“I’m perfectly happy using my cunt on occasion,” Edge assured him. “It was simply a matter of puzzling out the best technique.”

“you always do like a puzzle.” Cool air touched his spine as careless fingertips drew up his shirt to trace the bony ridges. “you know, with the power out we can’t take a shower yet.”

That was true, and Edge was rather liberally decorated with the drying remnants of Stretch’s magic as well as his own. They could use a washcloth and a few judicious splashes of bottled water. Or…

Edge settled more of his weight on top of his husband, parting his femurs with one knee. “I suppose we better find a new puzzle to work on while we wait.”

“what’s that?” Stretch broke off on a distracted gasp as Edge tugged down the collar of his shirt to nuzzle at the slender bones of his clavicles.

“Why don’t we see how many times can I make you come before the power comes back on.”

“that’s not a puzzle, that’s a—ah! ah, fuck, ah, babe, you…oohhh!”

As it turned out, they lost count before Edge found an answer, but that was all right. He’d never minded working on a puzzle a second time.

-finis-


	12. Cherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes were made and Edge has regrets...except he really, really doesn’t.

* * *

The full summer bloom of flowers in Ebott Regional Park was a lovely display. There were different beds designed to attract certain insects and birds, bumblebees lazily bobbling around with butterflies and hummingbirds darting from flower to flower almost too quickly to be seen.

There was a discreet plaque in front of each bed stating who was the sponsor, and that was what Edge came to check. The Monster community made substantial donations for the displays and should be appropriately recognized for it. Much as he enjoyed the gardens for their own sake, practicality demanded that if their donations were meant to establish their connection to the community, it needed to be properly advertised.

That was what he was supposed to be checking.

Instead, his entire attention was focused on trying and failing to not watch his husband, while most of his flustered magic trickled its way down below his belt.

He really should have known from the start this was a terrible idea. The park was very popular and vendors regularly strolled around with little carts, selling bottles of water and snacks to the park visitors. Edge hadn’t thought twice about buying something for Stretch; the heat of the day practically invited the purchase of a cold treat.

But if he had the chance again, he wouldn’t have allowed Stretch to pick a cherry popsicle.

The problem was their tongues were formed from magic. It made them much more…flexible…than fleshy creatures could offer. Very flexible and Stretch’s was currently wrapped around the popsicle, working at catching drips as it melted rapidly in the hot sun. Fine in theory, but for Edge, watching him was close to unbearable. The orange of his magic tinted red from the colored ice, the slide of it up and down the length of it, Stretch’s muffled hum of appreciation—

“Stop that!” Edge said abruptly.

He hadn’t meant to say anything; the words tumbled free in pure desperation. The struggle to tear his eye lights from the sight was real. That was simply too hard to watch. 

Difficult. Too difficult to watch.

Stretch froze, certainly no pun intended. Melting cherry dripped from his fingers as he stared at Edge with wide sockets. There was nothing coy or flirtatious in his expression, only bland confusion. “stop what?”

He actually looked down at himself as if expecting one of his limbs had grown a mind of its own and was currently involved in some nefarious annoyance. Considering how fidgety he was, that was not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but in this case the fault was Edge’s. That and the sweet possibilities his mind was helpfully supplying for that tongue, and no, he had better control than this, he did, he really, truly did.

He was going to pass out from a lack of magic to his skull. 

It felt like all of it was pooled hotly between his legs, eager for a chance to put that lovely, generous mouth to good use, Stretch’s tongue would be soothingly cold from the ice at first and—

“Nothing,” Edge managed. “I’m sorry.”

That confusion only deepened…and then so did the popsicle as Stretch thrust the length of it in his mouth, trying fruitlessly to catch up with the rapid melting.

The slick sound of it was obscene, the way Stretch swallowed around it. A trickle of redness trailed down his chin and there was another foreign sound, nearly a whimper. Dimly, Edge realized he was the one making it and that he was blatantly staring as Stretch slowly withdrew it with a wet pop, pausing to lick his sticky, crimson-stained fingers.

“what’s the matter, edgelord, bringing back fond memories?” And that knowing smirk had surely been hidden beneath false innocence from the beginning.

“You unbelievably spoiled brat,” Edge said hoarsely.

“you bought it for me,” Stretch pointed out. The curl of his stained tongue over his teeth was highly unnecessary and far too enticing.

“And you’ll be paying for it.”

He snatched up Stretch’s hand despite the stickiness, ignoring his soft laugh as he pulled him stumbling along towards the car.

The garden displays would have to wait. Sitting innocently in their freezer at home there was a box of popsicles, and there was enough magic left in Edge’s skull for a little strategy.

If Stretch wanted to play at a little hot and cold, then he couldn’t complain when Edge fought the fire with ice. 

But he was definitely going to beg.

-finis-


	13. Not a Monkey's Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red is not a babysitter. That is definitely for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankpanioncube suggested that Red might be an...uh...interesting babysitter. My brain went this way with it. ^_^

 

* * *

   
Red didn’t get what the big deal was about the sun, anyway. Some mornings the fucking thing was like getting stabbed in the socket with a lit cigarette, days with a hangover lingering in his skull like an unwanted guest. 

Not that he was usually walking anywhere, not on this kind of morning, but he hadn’t been over lately to check the status of the leftovers in his bro’s fridge. His head ached but hunger was gnawing at his magic. These days, Red didn’t stay hungry if he could help it and if helping it involved a jaunt over to the bro’s, welp, that was what he’d do.  
   
Odds were about fifty-fifty that Edge was still pissy at him, but eh, pressing his luck had gotten Red this far in life and chili dogs were in season. May as well take the chance and if Edge still had a bug up his ass then at least Red could die full.  
   
He stepped out from the shortcut onto the sidewalk in front of their house, sunglasses firmly in place, and hung out a minute to finish his cigar. Pressing his luck was one thing but smoking in the house was bordering on suicidal. Red wasn’t in _that_ much of a mood, thanks.  
   
“Hello Mister Sans Red Sir!”  
   
Red froze, cigar clenched in his teeth. What the fuck…?  
   
He tipped down his sunglasses to get a better look. Scattered over the front yard between all those weed piles his brother grew were a bunch of filthy Monster kids. All looking at him with bright, cheery interest or maybe like they were about to rip out his soul and feast on it, could go either way.  
   
His bro really needed to rethink his lawn ornaments; these ones were a little too eager.  
   
Red didn’t know a lot about rug monkeys. His experience began and ended with Edge, and he wouldn’t call his bro’s childhood or even his bro a great representation of normalcy.  
   
“hey,” he said, cautiously. Not that he wanted a chat with the booger-flinging crowd, but it paid well to make good with the neighbors. A chorus of 'hi's, 'hello's, and hand waves came at him like an attack, loud enough for his lingering hangover to perk up in the back of his skull to do the cha-cha-cha.  
   
Yeah, okay, that was enough of that.  
   
Red crushed out his cigar beneath one sneaker and made to walk past them. Shame it turned out that talking to ‘em was an invite he damn well hadn’t meant to send. The whole pack of ‘em tromped over in his direction and before he could so much as say fuck off, he was surrounded.  
   
Well, fuck him sideways and upside down, this was a conundrum, wasn’t it. He’d been top of the food chain in Underfell and here he was in the soft world getting trapped like a lame zebra by a group of junior lions.  
   
Sans was gonna laugh his ass off when he found out—and he would. The only question was how long he’d ride the insult train on it before Red shut his choo-chooing up.  
   
Not that Red couldn’t just shortcut his way out but eh, now it was too late. Now they’d caught his interest, which just went to show that kids made poor life choices.  
   
“what’s up, kiddos,” Red asked, easily. Most of ‘em were about his height or taller, but Red hadn’t worn that expression of eager innocence since about the first time he’d put feet on the ground. “where’s stretch and the boss?”  
   
“Mister Papyrus Stretch Sir isn’t here today,” the spokes-kid said mournfully. Red filed that useful tidbit away. “We’re helping with the garden and Mister Edge Sir went to get us lunch. But he’s taking a long time!”  
   
A murmur of agreement went through the peanut gallery and for fuck’s sake, Red hadn’t seen begging eyes like that since the last time Sansy had let him use the cuffs. He cut that thought off quick; even thinking about that night around a buncha kids was probably at least a misdemeanor.  
   
Red sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “hungry, huh? that a fact?” Red considered the contents of his inventory and grinned, a smile that usually sent a cold chill down a stiffest spine, but the ankle biters only nodded like a troop of fucking bobble heads. “then lemme see what uncle red can do for ya.”  
 

* * *

   
It was about fifteen minutes later as the crow flies when Edge finally made his grand entrance. The tray he was carrying had a pretty damn impressive spread. No surprise there, his bro had a thing about his nosh.  
   
But the princess was a little too late for the ball this time, and instead of a fanfare, he got groans and sickly whimpers. He stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down at the massacre across his lawn, stunned to silence.  
   
Even Red would admit it was impressive; a collection of brats collapsed on the grass in various states of whimpering. Couple of ‘em even looked a little green and Red idly wondered how his bro was gonna handle that. Better to puke on the grass or risk contaminating the floor on the way to the john, now that was a real decision.  
   
Probably would have been better to ditch before Edge came out, but if Red’d done that, he wouldn’t get to see his brother’s fine temper, now would he? Plus, he hadn’t made it to the fridge yet, eyes on the prize and all that shit.  
   
Still took some stones not to flinch when his brother swung that temper his way. S’ok, Red had a stone or two to spare and seeing Edge’s eye lights burning like the fires of hell was like a walk down memory lane.  
   
“What did you do?” Edge demanded, no, _snarled_ at him.  
   
Okay, yeah, maybe time to cool it a notch. Red only shrugged. “they said they was starving. never liked to see a hungry kid so i helped ‘em out.”  
   
Scattered between the kids were a litter of empty frosting containers, mostly chocolate but there was a coupla buttercream and one coconut thrown into the mix. One of the little crotch fruit still had a chocolate-smeared hand stuck in one of ‘em, but most were licked clean. That had been impressive on its own; lil’ fuckers were like locusts, devouring all in their path.  
   
Edge set the tray down and scrubbed at his face with one hand, the redness of his eye lights leaking through his fingers. He wasn’t exactly calmer when he looked back at Red, but murder was at least off the table. For now, anyway.  
   
“You—” Well, hey, there was one to mark off his bucket list. Never in his life had Edge been unable to find words for him; usually he kept a nice collection of ‘fucks’ polished up just for him. Edge seemed to be holding those in reserve because all he managed to say between gritted teeth was, “Why did you even _have_ that much frosting?”  
   
“i’d tell ya, boss, but you’d probably regret knowing.” As it was, he was gonna have to make a grocery run or Sans would be hopping right back into the line of people hacked off at him. Probably Sans should get frequent flyer miles by now and Edge never left, just tore off another number and waited his turn.  
   
“All right,” Edge said heavily. “All right.” He raised his voice to include the brats, “Let’s get cleaned up and each of you can try to get a sandwich in you before you go home.”  
   
A chorus of groans went through his fallen troops, and then a collective, “Yes, Boss.”  
   
Wellie, well, well, from the returning blaze of his eye lights, it looked like his bro was gonna dig out his special collection of fucks after all, the kind ya brought out for company.  
   
Hope the kids didn’t take any of ‘em home for the folks.  
   
Probably time for him to make like a tree and run like hell, but Red snagged a coupla sandwiches from the tray before stepping into a shortcut.  
   
That couldn’t have done much in the way of getting Edge over being pissed at him, but eh, he was more fun when he was riled up, anyway. He could be soft for the honey bun, if he wanted.  
   
For Red, his little brother better stay on his toes or they might get stepped on. And Red wasn’t afraid to break a bone or two if that’s what it took.  
   
What else were brothers for?

-finis-


	14. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hoooooot outside. That’s all I’ve got.

* * *

It was too hot outside.

There was no way around it. No jokes about if it was hot enough for you or do you like your weather hot or hotter could make Stretch crack a smile, but the temperature was more than enough for him to break a sweat.

Sprawled out in one of the backyard lounge chairs, Stretch swabbed listlessly at his sweaty face with an already dampened cloth.

Sure, he could go inside where the air conditioning lived but please, that would take away from his valuable time bitching about the heat. Besides, they’d come all the way to the surface to see the damn sun and Stretch was gonna see it, even on days where he could cook an egg inside his own rib cage.

Speaking of eggs, even the ladies were falling prey to the rising temperatures. 

They were determined to stay outside with him and hadn’t abandoned him for the cooler climes of their coop yet. All three of them were firmly settled in the shade, folded down to the ground like melted puddles of feathers.

Heh. Boneless chickens.

The sliding glass door opened and Stretch looked over his sunglasses to see Edge coming out with a tray. He was actually wearing shorts and that had to be one of the true signs of the apocalypse; even the Edgelord was giving in to the heat. 

Was it worth risking his life to get a picture for his Instagram of The Feet in those stylish sandals? On one hand, lotsa likes; his baby’s feet pictures were the stuff of legends and myth, the only proof of his existence. On the other, Edge kicking him out of the bedroom to sleep on the sofa when he saw it, decisions, decisions…

Maybe better to let it go for now because refreshment was on its way. Stretch struggled to sit up, already anticipating whatever cold drink awaited him on the tray. He could almost taste it. There were no flavor-aid days for his baby, you could bet your ass on that. Edge squeezed his own lemonade, thanks, loved up those citrusy goddesses until they gave up the juice and mixed it with the perfect ratio of sugar and water before topping it was a sprig of mint. Or maybe it was iced tea, fresh brewed, and he always made a jug of sweetened and unsweetened, so they could both enjoy it.

Ooooh, or if he was inspired, sometimes Edge would drag out the blender and those were the best days, whirled up drinks with frozen berries and peaches like it was a brand new kind of magic.

He was practically drooling by the time Edge got to him, ready with the grabby hands.

Which was why it was a sad, sad surprise that Edge kept walking, right past him over to the chickens. He knelt down and all three of those brats fluffed up their feathers, all ready to flirt with their favorite person. Who was setting out blocky little cubes into the grass for the them to cluck over excitedly. 

“It’s corn frozen in ice,” Edge called. Probably because Stretch was looking at him with the utmost betrayal. “If they insist on sitting out here with you in this inferno, then this will help them from getting overheated.”

Oh.

Oh, right, well, that was a pretty good idea. Wasn’t like Stretch couldn’t get off his tailbone and get his own drink, seriously, like Edge didn’t cook for him all the time? Or, let’s be honest, do a hell of a lot more than his share of housework because he had a particular way of doing things and he’d let Stretch do laundry and dishes most times, but cleaning the bathroom? Nope, that was skilled labor in Edge’s mind and the best thing Stretch could do was try to keep his messes to a minimum.

Honestly, it was pretty fucking selfish of him to think Edge needed to bring him a damn drink when he could get his own and—

The clink of ice cubes dragged him out of that downwards spiral and he blinked to see a glass of lemonade on his little table, dripping condensation with that jaunty sprig of mint right on top.

“Here you are, brat,” Edge pushed back Stretch’s hat and dropped a light kiss on top of his skull before letting the hat fall back down over his face. “I didn’t forget you.”

Empty tray in hand, Edge started to walk away and Stretch scrambled to push his hat back, grabbing at the hem of his shorts. For once, he didn’t even leer at the way it pulled them down a little on his pelvis. Edge stopped, looking down with an arched brow bone. “Did you need something else?”

“do i ever tell you how much i appreciate you?” Stretch told him. His smile felt a little forced, sitting wrong on his face, but he needed to know.

It was a safe bet that the amount of people who got to see that softness fall over Edge’s face could be counted on one hand, even one missing fingers. The lounger listed dangerously to one side as Edge sat down next to him, balancing out when he swooped down to kiss Stretch with gentle warmth. 

“More often than you think you do,” Edge assured him when he drew away. “And in many ways. I can see the wheels squeaking in your head, don’t for one moment think that spoiling you is anything but a joy for me. I like doing it or I wouldn’t, I’m sure you can believe that.”

Okay, yeah, that was a fact and a half, wasn’t it.

“none of my wheels squeak,” Stretch tried for jaunty but eh, if his voice was a little on the wobbly side better to hide it with another kiss, right? “then again, squeaky wheels get greased and you’re more than welcome to grease my—“

“You can stop there or no part of you will be greased anytime soon,” Edge said dryly. He tweaked Stretch’s nasal bone lightly with his knuckles then managed to stand without dumping Stretch out of his chair. 

It was only when he disappeared back inside that Stretch realized he’d forgotten to take a picture of his sandals.

Eh, win some, lose some.

A sip of the lemonade put this firmly on the side of winner-winner-no-chickens-for-dinner. Sweet and tart, and come to think of it, Stretch wasn’t sure Edge even liked lemonade.

Some days Stretch wasn’t even sure why Edge liked _him_. Didn’t matter; he liked lemonade and Edge, and he was keeping ‘em both.

-finis-


	15. Bored Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booored.
> 
> Stretch is so done with being bored of boring days boring him. Bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stretch’s mood is so much my own right now. Luckily, he has better entertainment.

* * *

Finding Stretch sprawled out on the sofa when Edge returned home from work was a common occurrence. Even he was surrendering to the sweltering heat outside and the air conditioning left their home comfortably cool in comparison.

What was stranger was that his attention was not on the television, which was showing the Netflix menu. Nor was he napping; one arm was slung over his sockets in a failing attempt as a blindfold and his bare toes were drumming against the arm of the sofa. Even his clothes explained little, normal shorts and a plain tank top, one of Edge’s without any ridiculous slogans or advertising. Strange, but not worrying, not yet.

Without any clues to work from, it left only Edge’s least favorite route of determining his husband’s mood; asking directly.

He set aside his work bag, loosening his tie as he asked, carefully, “Is everything all right, love?”

There was a long silence, Stretch’s toes pausing in their impromptu drum solo. 

Finally he said, “yeaaaaah,” drawing out the word into a sigh. “i guess. nothing’s wrong exactly. today just feels like one big shrug, you know?”

He didn’t, not really, but he had no doubt that was exactly how Stretch felt. Not terrible, at least, not lost in the grayness of his thoughts. Just a bit out of sorts and that might be something Edge could help with. “What do you need to feel better?”

“i dunno, but per experiments, a half a carton of cookie dough ice cream is not the answer.” That felt like it needed a response and a horrified one at that, but Stretch sat up before Edge could come up with the precise words to indicate the proper amount disgust without aiming it at his husband. 

“it’s too hot and it’s too boring and i don’t wanna go out but i don’t wanna stay in. there’s nothing to watch or read. i even tried out that face aging app everyone is using online in desperation.”

“I take it you weren’t entertained.”

Stretch looked at him sourly and held out his phone. The picture was a completely normal one, without any of the filters Stretch used sometimes to add ears or tattoos. “And how did it look aged up?”

“that is aged up,” Stretch groaned, flopping back on the sofa.

Oh. It was difficult to hold back a smile but Edge managed. “Well, at least you know you’ll keep your youthful appearance. Were you hoping for wrinkles and crows feet? Perhaps to sprout some gray hair?”

“hell, i don’t even know. me and the trouble twins are the oldest skeleton monsters i know. older’n you.”

“Ah, yes, all three of you are positively ancient,” Edge said blandly. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep up with the younger versions?”

Stretch snorted. “please. we couldn’t have kept up when we _were_ your age, kid.”

“I’m sure you’re right, oh, ancient one.” 

Stretch never bothered to hold back a grin and he added a roll of his eye lights for good measure before slumping back down, slinging an arm over his sockets again. Fidgeting more than anything, he shifted to throw one leg over the back of the sofa as he squirmed restlessly. 

Much as Edge wanted to help, frankly that squirming coupled with the tantalizing amount of bone he was showing was terribly distracting. The tank top was cut loosely, Edge normally wore them when he went running, and it showed the delicate lines of his collarbone, the sleek curves all but begged for a taste or nibble. Meanwhile, with his legs sprawled apart, his shorts rode up high on his femurs, showing off the pale, glossy bones. 

Long and smooth, and strong as well, something Stretch proved often, gripping at Edge with his legs whenever he was between them, so lovely and—

“if you’re finished perving on me, you can come on over and get an actual taste of it.”

Startled, Edge dragged his eye lights up. Stretch was looking out at him through the ineffective barrier of his arm, and his smirk was an equal measure of knowing and inviting.

Well, so long as he had an invitation…

Edge stripped off his jacket and shirt, tossing them with rare carelessness onto the coffee table before he moved to set a knee between Stretch’s splayed legs. He lowered himself with care, already nuzzling against that tempting collar bone.

The breathless laugh he got in return contrasted with the fingers digging into his scapulas as Stretch pulled him in. “yeah, go for it, babe, you’re always good for a few minutes of entertainm—hey!”

Edge lapped soothingly at the abused bone that he’d nipped slightly harder than necessary in warning. “Watch what you say, brat, or you’ll get a lesson in just how long I can be entertaining.”

“oooh, big promises today, think you can keep—“ His already ragged voice broke on a moan and though Stretch never said it out loud, Edge was quite certain that for the rest of the evening, he was no longer bored.

-finis


	16. A Real Chore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing chores evenly is a sign of a healthy relationship. Edge certainly doesn't mind.

* * *

Edge never asked Stretch to do chores when he moved in. He hadn’t really considered the division of labor when he invited Stretch to make a home with him, and he supposed, if anything, he’d assumed that the bulk of the household work would continue to fall upon him. 

It took less than a week for Edge to feel rather small-minded over his assumptions. For all that his energy reserves were lower, Stretch did his fair share from the first day. He made the bed most mornings, did laundry, even vacuumed and dusted. Edge preferred to do the more labor-intensive work himself, such as scrubbing the bathroom and the kitchen was off-limits, but anything else was fair game. 

Stretch wasn’t quite as adept at chores as Edge and while the sight of uneven corners on the folded towels might make a twinge of discomfort go through him, Edge had learned to tolerate it. Stretch was doing his share of the housework and his folding was perfectly adequate; in the end they were merely towels, and he wouldn’t hurt Stretch for the world by insinuating his work wasn’t good enough. 

That said, his somewhat haphazard skills in towel folding were far more acceptable when a show like this was included with it. 

Edge still had his briefcase in hand when he leaned against the doorjamb, watching his husband’s version of a bump and grind with varying levels of interest and amusement. Stretch was wearing an oversized pair of headphones, singing to some pop-y song that Edge did not know, dancing along as he shook out another towel to fold. 

He was always such a strange contrast; clumsily tripping over his own feet in one moment and dancing like…that, on another.

The sway of his hips spoke of a decent sense of rhythm, moving with a shimmy and a shake as he set another folded towel on the growing stack. Dancing was supposed to be a form of body language and Stretch was delectably fluent, far better than Edge as he was in all languages. Edge was familiar with the waltz only due to the occasional requirements as former Captain of the Snowdin Guard. His knowledge of whatever it was Stretch was doing was nil, but it certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view. 

The occasional hints of Stretch’s iliac crests as he twisted was enticing, even showing a fair amount of spine on one occasion. Those lovely, delicate bones, the joints moving smoothly as he wriggled and turned, listening to music that Edge couldn’t hear. 

The last towel was bunched up in his fist as an imaginary microphone, his honeyed voice pitched perfectly as he sang, “however do you want me, however do you need me—"

That husky voice broke on a squeak as Edge grabbed him from behind, his hands cupping Stretch’s hips urging him to continue as he nudged the headset askew to murmur into his audial canal, “I need you just like this.”

In the end, the towels needed refolding, but that was fine. Edge didn’t mind helping out with the chores. 

-finis-


	17. Just Peachy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s coming in to harvest season and Edge is ready to sample the produce.

* * *

One of the greatest differences, and best in Edge’s opinion, of living Aboveground was the changing seasons. It was coming into that blurred time between summer and fall, and farmer’s market was bursting with the early harvest. Edge was more than happy to buy his fair share. Local produce was best and what he couldn’t use now, he’d freeze or can for the winter.

The sheer variety was nearly overwhelming after years in the Underground. Even in this ‘verse the Monsters could only make due with what little they could grow. Ebott might not the most worldly of places, but there was more available in a single aisle at the market than beneath the entire mountain.

Including a dozen different varieties of tempting peaches. He’d bought far too many, for once his curiosity overwhelming his frugal nature. There were so many; small and large fuzzy fruits in all the colors between soft yellow to near-reds and Edge wanted to try every one. 

His brother would mock him for the fanciful thoughts, but it seemed to Edge that there was something different about fruit ripened in the sunshine rather than hydroponically. Some of that warmth gathered in the fruit and lingered, only to be released in that first bite.

Stretch didn’t even ask about the inclusion of a small bushel of peaches to their normal groceries. He sat with Edge on their front porch step, rummaging curiously through them and for once, Edge was the one offering information, naming each variety as Stretch held it up.

His own tastes varied and Edge enjoyed a certain tartness to his fruits, but for Stretch, sweeter was always better.

“That one. It’s a Honey Babe,” Edge said when Stretch held up a smaller one, the fuzzy skin yellow with a blush of red. “It should be sweet, try that one.”

“awww, thanks. you’re a honey babe, too,” Stretch said, giving him a wink.

“But not nearly as sweet,” Edge said dryly.

“that’s a matter of opinion.” The peach was almost overripe, soft and heavy, and the flesh parted easily beneath the pressure of teeth.

The first bite burst with juices, flooding out to stream down Stretch’s chin and hand, dripping all the way down his ulna and radius bones.

Stretch laughed through his mouthful, chewing almost frantically to combat the delicious assault. 

The bright scent rose around them to mingle with light sweetness of Stretch’s magic and the aroma was heady, a siren call to the bees idly buzzing around.

“whoops,” Stretch said sheepishly. “i’ll need a shower after this.”

Edge watched as Stretch ducked his head to lick the trail of juice up the pale bones with a tongue nearly the same shade of orange. Following it to his hand, lapping away the stickiness from his slender fingers.

“babe?”

Edge blinked, that one word breaking through his transfixed gaze. His own peach sat in his hand, untouched and Stretch was looking at him curiously. 

It was never a fair guess as to whether that innocence was real; it was equally likely Stretch was deliberately teasing. 

“How are you so beautiful?” Edge asked him softly and the color that rose in his cheekbones matched the half-eaten fruit still in his hand.

“you need to reset your eye lights,” Stretch scoffed, “i’m a mess.” He was. Juice was still dripping freely from his hand and face. Stretch wiped at his mouth with the back of other hand, ineffectively. Bones made for poor napkins. 

“Beautiful,” Edge corrected and leaned in. His first taste of sunshine came not from the fruit, but from his husband’s mouth, sticky-sweet and soft, teeth parting to allow Edge to sample the deeper sweetness within.

All too soon Stretch drew away, his eye lights hazy and warm. He held up the bitten peach between them, offering. “you try it.”

Edge did, careful not to allow his sharper teeth to so much as graze Stretch’s hand. It was delicious, perfectly ripe and the flesh of it was tender. He chewed it and swallowed, felt it incorporate into his magic and watched Stretch take another bite.

Edge licked his teeth contemplatively. His second taste wasn’t quite as good as the first. Perhaps a test was in order, Stretch wasn’t the only one who could appreciate science.

At the top of the basket was a bright red variety, Rio Oso Gem, supposedly very rich and sweet. Edge stripped off one of his gloves and plucked it up, holding it out to Stretch. “Try this one.”

He held it as Stretch bit into it, a cascade of juice falling over his hand, waiting patiently as Stretch chewed and swallowed before he leaned in. 

Perhaps he’d been wrong, all the sunshine wasn’t lost in the first bite. It could be held and shared within the sweetness of a sticky kiss, and Edge was more than willing to test that theory with every one.

-finis-


End file.
